


Frightful the storm

by hereticalvision



Series: Harry Potter Horror [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Body Worship, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Inspired by Frankenstein, M/M, References to Frankenstein, Sex, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticalvision/pseuds/hereticalvision
Summary: It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be only more attached to one another.Harry was killed and Draco will stop at nothing to bring him back.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Harry Potter Horror [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986185
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: HP Darkarts Fanworks Collection





	Frightful the storm

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of spooky week, I decided to cross post a few of my older dark/horror fics beginning with H/D Frankenstein, written for hp_darkarts 2013. Throughout this fic you will find swathes of passages from Frankenstein paraphrased, used out of context and just downright stolen, because I am now and have always been in love with that text. Beta love to Fictionalist without whom I seriously could not function.

  
_Strange and harrowing must be his story; frightful the storm which embraced the gallant vessel on its course, and wrecked it -- thus!_  
  
  
Draco hasn't slept in days. He hasn't eaten, hasn't washed, hasn't done anything but sip water when he remembers and relieve himself when his body insists. He must smell, he must but he can't tell anymore. The vaults below the manor have always smelled slightly, damp and sweat and human suffering; now the air is stale with decay.  
  
"You're going to kill yourself," Harry says quietly from the corner behind him. It's the first time he's spoken in days.  
  
"I'm almost finished," says Draco. His hands are shaking as he opens the phial and pours more of elixir down the body's throat.  
  
"You need to sleep."  
  
"I can sleep when I'm finished," Draco snaps. He can't afford to lose concentration, can't afford to lose a single drop of the liquid.  
  
"You need to let me go," Harry whispers.  
  
"I am the Master of Death," Draco replies matter-of-factly. "And you are coming back to me."  
  
Harry doesn't answer him. Not the body on the slab nor the spirit in the corner.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
The Deathstick he won duelling with Harry for practice. Harry didn't use it, never used it, had thought it destroyed but tools that powerful were not so easily unmade.  
  
Draco had been consumed with it, the careless way Harry bested him, the careless way Harry had always bested him, and he needed, needed, to prove that Harry had been wrong to dismiss him all those times before.  
  
They were both sweating: they had been battered about the room, subjected to tickling sensations, static shocks, transfigured animals which darted at them. Draco had seen Harry's eyes dip to his mouth, and licked his lips. It was enough of a distraction. Harry fell to the floor, his wand leaping to Draco's hand.  
  
Draco had celebrated by levitating Harry into the air and peeling his clothes from his body; Harry had laughed and let him and Draco had touched him everywhere, mastering him at last and feeling less triumph than he had imagined, more affection, more delight.  
  
Afterwards, after Harry was dead, Draco remembered that day. He wasn't certain until he held the wand in his hand, but when the power of it filled him he knew with certainty that he could do this, he could bring Harry back.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
The Resurrection Stone took pride of place on the walnut sideboard in the corner of the room; Draco would have liked to wear it as a ring, of course, but the idea made Harry uncomfortable.  
  
Harry sat on the floor, curled up in the corner between the wood and the wall. The Harry beyond the veil, that is. Harry's body was always on the slab; it never moved.  
  
"I wish I'd smashed that stone when I had the chance," Harry said.  
  
"Don't say that," Draco breathed. He crouched down in front of where Harry sat, there in the corner but beyond the veil, separated from him forever.  
  
No, not forever.  
  
"This isn't how it's supposed to be," Harry said.  
  
On that at least Draco could agree with him. Neither of them was supposed to be dead, or both of them were. Or they were supposed to be in some other, parallel world where it would be just the two of them, no societal expectation to dictate who Harry will love and demand that Draco crawl wounded out of sight in repentance for his endless list of crimes.  
  
"No," Draco agreed. "No, you should be able to feel it when I touch you." Without thinking, he looked back over his shoulder to the body on the slab.  
  
"Don't," Harry cried. Harry didn't think of the body as his, didn't think of things the way Draco did.  
  
"I have to touch you," Draco whispered, reaching out for the hundredth time to find that Harry's face would not materialise beneath his fingertips.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
The invisibility cloak was the easiest: Draco inherited it when Harry died. In the sense that he knew where it was and he knew how to get it.  
  
How to get it involved going through Ron Weasley, who stood on the staircase in Grimmauld Place with his wand grimly held out in front of him.  
  
"You should think about what you're doing," he said to Draco, which Draco thought was funny because Weasley had never seemed to find Draco capable of sound moral judgement before.  
  
"You should step aside," Draco replied coolly.  
  
Weasley said something else then, something that made Draco's head hurt and his brain spin, and maybe it was a spell and maybe it was just cruelty but it made Draco angry and no one but Harry could ever best Draco when he was angry.  
  
His wand shook as he cursed Weasley, watched him fall to the ground immobilised. Billowing hatred swelled in him; he remembered breaking Potter's nose when what he'd really wanted was to wank off on his face. He didn't break Weasley's nose, though he couldn't deny the urge to touch himself. He couldn't touch Harry now, not now, not ever again.  
  
"I have love in me," Draco whispered. It was what they always told Harry, Draco knew, not him, never him. "I have love in me, the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, and rage," this they did see, this they did apply to him, "the likes of which you would not believe."  
  
Ron stared up at him from the floor, his eyes full of fear. Once that might have made Draco hard.  
  
"If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other." Rage and love, fear and strength, wands and scars. Potter and Malfoy. Draco lowered his wand after a moment, a heartbeat long enough to ensure his point was made. "Beware what you try to keep me from. There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand."  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
Harry's body is almost perfect. It isn't Harry's original body, of course. They were clever: they burned that one.  
  
It was probably Harry's own idea. Once, Harry had asked, "How do you create an Inferius?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "Necromancy." He shifted on the bed, loving the way his skin moved over Harry's, the rasp of leg and chest hair, the smooth satin of Harry's back. "Fancy an army of Inferi, do you?"  
  
"Does it seem like something I would want?" Harry said, vaguely incredulous.  
  
"No," said Draco, not adding, _but neither do I and you just fucked me._ "I think you need the corpse, the instruments of life, the right elixir…"  
  
"You know a lot about it," Harry observed.  
  
"I have to," Draco replied. It was true: he was an Unspeakable now, and a new breed of Dark Wizard had everyone researching magics that would have been illegal a few scant years before. The rumours flew endlessly around the Ministry, around the world: they have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.  
  
"Can they do it to you," Harry said, hesitant, "if there's no body?"  
  
Draco, bored, said, "There's all manner of things you can't do without a body." He slipped his hand down the swell of Harry's arse and slipped a finger inside him, just enough to let Harry know he was there, made him gasp and his eyes flutter open.  
  
Draco had built something beautiful for Harry now, selected the perfect arms, the loveliest cock, the most luscious lips. It was strange, remembering the imperfections of Harry's body and wondering if he should seek to replicate or correct them. He could have anything he wanted in his lover now – a more muscular frame, a larger cock, stronger hands. It was not a dilemma he'd ever thought to face.  
  
The eyes, though, he knew he could never match. He would never again see that certain shade of green.  
  
Harry had been real once, complete in all his perfection and imperfection. Too soon he was borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
Harry had pulled Draco back from death once. He was the master of death even then, long before he'd even heard of the Deathly Hallows. He sliced Draco open from throat to groin and watched him bleed for a while into the water on the bathroom floor. Then he'd sealed him back up and made it like it had never happened, except of course for the scar which Draco would always bear.  
  
Snape had told him a different story, of course, played with his memory even, but Draco knew, long before Harry came back from the dead: Harry could be held by nothing, could walk between the worlds easy as anything.  
  
"You are the Master of Death," Draco whispered to Harry's body. "And you are coming back to me."  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
There are any number of methods for bringing a person back to life. Magic makes so many things possible. Draco had encountered Inferi and charmed skeletons and zombies and ghosts and philosopher's stones and unicorn blood but there's nothing he knew that could put Harry back the way he was.  
  
Except the half-remembered story Harry whispered into the space between Draco's shoulder blades one night when the dreams became too much for him. For all the slaughter he had seen, it was that first death, Cedric's death, that Harry could never forget.  
  
_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe._ The words of the fiend rung in his ears like a death-knell; he could appreciate the irony.  
  
The words that brought the Dark Lord back into being were hard to find recorded but they were held of course by the Department of Mysteries.  
  
Granger, this time. "Malfoy, don’t. Harry wouldn't want this."  
  
The stronger wand was not enough. Draco knew that, as Harry had known that. He himself had to be stronger, had to overcome the loss and the silence and twist the world into being as he would have it be.  
  
She was clever so he silenced her, quick and ruthless before he sent her flying into the air.  
  
"Potter wouldn't like it if I hurt you," he whispered to her, to remind himself.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
Draco had, of course, considered that it might be far simpler to kill himself rather than go through all of this for the chance of bringing Harry back. Life, after all, was far from infinite and they had both lived through the consequences of one man trying to make it so.  
  
Perhaps the Dark Lord's mistake had been in his scattershot approach. He wanted immortality, blood purity, power, servants. Draco wanted only Harry forever and always.  
  
Draco had always desired Harry, wanted to conquer and cherish, to defile and deify. But as his childish whims had given way to something far deeper and infinitely more terrifying, Draco found that he also desired the company of a man who could sympathize with him, whose eyes would reply to his. Harry had proven himself so many things: gentle and courageous, possessed of a captivating as well as of a caring spirit. His tastes were so different from Draco's own and so it always meant that much more, when Harry would deign to approve or amend Draco's plans.  
  
"I cannot live without you," Draco told the body on the slab as he poured more of the elixir down its throat. The Elixir of Life would have kept them alive forever but it wasn't enough yet, because the body, this assembled body had never really been alive. The Hallows weren't enough because the Resurrection Stone brought him forth but couldn't bind him to the body. Voldemort's ritual it would have to be.  
  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
"Seeing you like this," whispered the shade of Harry, "it's like I've fallen into one of my dreams. One of my nightmares."  
  
"It does appear like a dream," Draco admitted, "all the details dulled to distance, yet somehow distinct and oppressive; unmistakeably reality."  
  
"There was always scope for fear," Harry sighed, "so long as anything I love remained behind. But I never believed you'd… Draco, please look at me."  
  
Draco did, took in that face, those eyes, there but unreal.  
  
"I am the Mirror of Erised for you," Harry said earnestly. "You look at me and you forget everything that's real."  
  
"You are real."  
  
"I'm dead."  
  
"I really wish you would cease from harping on that point," Draco snapped. When falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of happiness?  
  
"Dumbledore told me– it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." Harry's voice was gentle now. "When did you last speak to your mother?"  
  
At that, Draco stilled.  
  
"Pansy?" Harry persisted. "Blaise? Any of your friends?"  
  
Draco swallowed and looked away.  
  
"When did you last sleep?" Harry went on and his voice broke. "Draco, you look awful and I…"  
  
He reached out then instinctively to touch Draco's face. Humans are such tactile creatures and impulses born of habit and experience are not easily discarded. But Harry's hand could not touch Draco now, would never be able to touch Draco again and it drew a strangled cry from his throat.  
  
"If I see one smile on your lips when we meet again, I shall need no other happiness," said Draco and then he spun around to knock over the stone and Harry disappeared.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
_Blood of the enemy._ Draco could have tried to find Voldemort's body. Someone had to know what had happened to it that day. While the whole school and half their families besides huddled in the Great Hall counting their losses, the body had been taken to a separate chamber away from those who might be tempted to abuse it.  
  
Draco had been between his parents and thinking _thank you_ , over and over again though he could not have said who he was thanking at the time; it certainly wouldn't have been Potter.  
  
Harry would never want Draco to use Voldemort's blood in his resurrection. Draco already knew that Harry was going to have a hard time forgiving him, but that, that would be too much to ask.  
  
But Harry had had other enemies.  
  
"Draco," Lucius said, frowning, "Draco, what are you…"  
  
Silencing spell, petrifying spell, nonverbal. Draco didn't trust himself to speak.  
  
His father was narrow-minded. That was a gross understatement. He had only ever seen idleness and ruin in the aspirations and ambition of his son. He had failed Draco repeatedly.  
  
It still hurt him to pull out the knife.  
  
"I don't need it all," he promised his father with a voice terrible, forced out from a throat which no longer felt designed for the purpose. "I won't take…"  
  
Draco's voice gave out. The knife struck true.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
It was the thirty-first of July. Draco waited for the date, relying on its significance to lend power to his actions.  
  
James Potter's left tibia, retrieved from a grave at Godric's Hollow. Lucius Malfoy's blood, drawn from his arm against his will. Draco's flesh. Draco's left ring finger, willing given. The finger on which he would have worn a wedding ring, the finger which was Harry's by right and desire.  
  
All of that in the caldron and poured over the body on the slab. The elixir of life flowing through the body, to render it immortal. The invisibility cloak pillowing its head, symbolising that there was no longer any need to hide from death.  
  
The Resurrection Stone, turned over to summon Harry's shade.  
  
"Draco," he said at once. "Draco, what are you…"  
  
Place the stone on the body's forehead, aim the Elder Wand to point into the head straight through the stone. " _Vive!_ " Draco cried, the full force of his will and his love and his pain crackling through the word.  
  
Wind whipped through the vaults, improbable, impossible. The Elder Wand glowed bright and brilliant, lightning shooting out of it and directly into the body on the slab. The force of it was trying to push Draco away, trying to break the connection – Harry was screaming something but Draco couldn't hear him over the rushing in his ears.  
  
He is dead, Draco thought, willing it to be otherwise, willing the whole world to bend and make his desire reality. Who am I now is who he called me into being; he brought me to life though he may despise us both for what I become. He will always be a hero but when I shall be no more, the very remembrance of who he really was, who we both were, will speedily vanish.  
  
"It must not be!" Draco screamed and at last the lightning swelled and burst free, crashing out in all directions, filling the whole room with light and electricity and sending Draco tumbling away from the body and away from consciousness itself.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
When Draco awoke, the vault had collapsed in on itself, stone shattered by lightning.  
  
"Harry," Draco called, more concerned with reaching him than the fact that his hand still bled where he had cut off his finger, more concerned with knowing he was alive than anything else in the world.  
  
"Draco," a voice replied. "Oh, Draco." And then a hand, cold to the touch but tangible and solid stroked Draco's cheek.  
  
Draco dared to look and there it was, his most magnificent creation, Harry sculpted in scarred flesh, his eyes the colour of the Resurrection stone, the symbol of the three Deathly Hallows burned into his forehead, the whole thing shot through by a bolt of lightning.  
  
Draco reared up at once to bite at the lips; there was a soft click in Harry's new throat as he gasped, the same reaction Draco had always been able to elicit. Desire flooded Draco and he reached to touch all of Harry's new flesh, colder than he remembered but pliant all the same. He had to screw up his eyes against the urge to cry, overwhelmed with the joy and the ecstasy replacing the loss and the silence.  
  
Harry reached to link his fingers through Draco's hand and Draco shouted in pain though he tried to stifle it. Harry pulled away concerned and looked at Draco's missing finger. He seemed to concentrate only a moment and then the finger grew back, pink perfect flesh precisely as it had been before.  
  
"Thank you," Draco whispered and celebrated by fisting his hand in Harry's hair, devouring that mouth all over again. Everything subtly different but all of it feeling so right. Harry here, right here, separated from Draco by nothing but fabric. Draco gasped between frantic kisses, startled by the coldness of the tongue which met his own.  
  
"You shouldn't have," Harry tried, "you shouldn't have done this," but he was kissing Draco too.  
  
The touch of Harry everywhere was the same – so cold it burned Draco's very blood. Draco had torn the veil aside and this kiss was his reward: ash and death and Harry on his tongue.  
  
It was more than worth the cost.  
  
  
  


o0O0o

  
  
  
Harry held Draco for a long time, the two of them kneeling on the dirt floor. Draco sobbed for a while, clinging on to what he had made: Harry so much larger and stronger than him now, by his own design and his self-neglect. Draco had become so thin and he hadn't noticed at all.  
  
"You knew I wouldn't want this," Harry said as though the words hurt him.  
  
"I wanted you to have it," Draco told him. Power over life and death and everything between: who better than Harry?  
  
"But that's not why you did it," Harry said, knowing Draco so well, knowing that all Draco had ever wanted was Harry all to himself.  
  
"I needed you to come back to me," Draco replied.  
  
Harry's arms tightened and he took a long, shuddering breath. "What now?"  
  
"That's up to you." Draco kissed Harry's wrist. He could feel the strength in Harry's muscles.  
  
Harry swallowed. "Did you really think we could stay?"  
  
"We'd be monsters, cut off from all the world." Draco couldn't help the smile which split his face, an almost painful stretch of his malnourished skin.  
  
"Just like you always wanted."  
  
"Yes," Draco acknowledged and it didn't matter anymore what he wanted or what he felt because he knew that in a moment he would be dead at last, with Harry for always.  
  
"I am the Master of Death," Harry says, his lightning-shaped scar blazing with a strange light, the same vivid brilliance in his eyes.  
  
"Take me with you this time," Draco said. And then, because it was his darkest desire, "Fuck me first."  
  
Draco had made Harry his God; at last, Harry answered his prayers.  
  
~fin.


End file.
